


Living In Seconds

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Affection, Apologies, Appendicitis, Arguing, Banter, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Caring, Common Cold, Control, Developing Relationship, Drabbles, Emotional Manipulation, Explanations, Family Issues, Fear of Death, Frustration, Gardens & Gardening, Help, Heroism, Hope, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Injury, Injury Recovery, Isolation, Loyalty, Making Out, Multiple Selves, One-Sided Attraction, Overworking, Past Violence, Plans For The Future, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prompt Fill, Romance, Shorts, Stabbing, Strategy & Tactics, Teasing, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-01 01:05:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Every life is made up of moments. This is a collection of brief glimpses into the Egos' lives—the moments that can andshouldbe put into words.





	1. Deep

**Author's Note:**

> It's been almost a month since I wrote something for myself, but I haven't had much inspiration to write a longer story. Instead I decided to challenge myself to take some random word prompts and write little ficlets for them! (Prompts will be the titles of the chapters.) Topics and story lengths will probably vary quite a bit, haha XD

The wound was deep, too deep to heal. The bullet traveled so far that Chase was sure he would never recover. Even if his heart was beating, even if his lungs had air, he was too far gone.

The others changed his mind.

Anti inspired regret in him. “C҉ǫuld̛n’t̶ ̢go t̛hrơugh w̴i͡t̢h͘ it̛, boy?” he mocked, sneering at him. “Y̢o͢u t̴hink ̶y͠ou͜ ͠h͘a̕ve someth̷ing҉ ͝t͘o̷ l̶ive̶ ̢fo̧r?̢”

_Did he? Had he been wrong to go to such drastic measures?_

Jackieboy inspired righteous anger in him. “It’s okay to be angry,” the hero assured him, eyes narrowed and fierce. “We’re all angry…but not with you.”

_How could they be so merciful? How could they be so loyal?_

Marvin inspired dignity in him. “Let me help you,” he urged, guiding him out of bed toward the shower, pulling new clothes from the nearby drawers. “You deserve better. Just let me help.”

 _They still thought he deserved something. They still thought he was worth something_.

Schneep inspired care in him. “What would we do without you, Chase Brody?” he asked, his voice thick, his hands gentle as they wrapped the fresh bandages. “We fall apart if we don’t have you.”

 _They still needed him. They still wanted him_.

The wound was deep, but blood ran deeper.


	2. Numbskull

All he wanted was to help. It was his job: make a difference, even if it was just to one person. Make someone smile or laugh and if you can’t do that, give them something to think about. Those were the rules he lived by and he never had one iota of doubt that the victories were worth every failure.

She was different. When the Silver Shepherd saw her boyfriend twisting her arm behind her back, he came to save her, but she didn’t want his help. She said that no one could help her, not even a _supposed_ hero.

That comment stung, of course, but he persisted.

“I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

She and her boyfriend both told him where to get off. He persisted.

“You numbskull! Are you deaf or are you seriously this dumb?” That insult was familiar, of course. He’d heard them from the other Egos every day since he was created—perhaps not in the same words, but it amounted to the same meaning.

“I may be a numbskull, but I’m a numbskull who would respect a woman.” With that, he retreated. It gnawed at him for months, until they found each other again. She sought him out, scarred but surviving nonetheless. She said he had been right…that she wished she hadn’t been too proud for help. His words were what had inspired her to move on, and she wanted to thank him for it.

“Would you…be interested in sharing a drink with some numbskull like me?” he mumbled under his breath. She bit her lip to hide a smile and it struck him then just how beautiful she was.

That evening, for the first time in years, he and Roxanne stopped hiding behind their masks.


	3. Fade

He had expected his feelings for her to fade, as all feelings did. He was an android, Google reminded himself viciously, resisting the urge to access his drive and look at all of the pictures of her again. He shouldn’t be _feeling_ anything and moreover, she was a human. His secondary objective was put more and more at risk the longer he felt things for her.

Even so…the feelings remained. In fact, they only grew stronger. Amy Nelson was an anomaly, someone who would be so out of place if he were to put her in the terms of his objective. Any time he tried, any time he imagined killing her along with the rest of mankind, he felt something twist uncomfortably in his internals.

He wasn’t supposed to have this kind of weakness. Destroying mankind was what he was built for! Why was she making it so difficult?

She flirted with him sometimes, but she flirted with many of the Egos—it was all in the spirit of being playful. She didn’t seem to notice how invested he was in it and oh, he _hated_ himself for it. All he could do was hate himself. He could never hate her.

He kept himself firmly in check when she was around. Even when his core brightened in anticipation of her visits, he kept his expressions stoic and uninterested.

What on earth would she think of him if he were to breathe a word of this?

She was spoken for, snatched up by his creator. That was a boundary even he couldn’t cross…at least not without Admin Permissions.

Perhaps, if he was friendlier toward her, she would be willing to give him access. Perhaps she could be spared from his secondary objective, even if Mark wasn’t.

Perhaps, he mused carefully, his feelings didn’t _need_ to fade.

Perhaps they could be put to good use.


	4. Dirt

“This may not be the best use of our time, Yan,” Bim admitted as he straightened out of his crouch, stretching his back with several strident pops and glancing around with distaste. He managed to mask the expression just before Yandere glanced over, chuckling as if Bim’s words were an inside joke which had made fond memories.

“These sakura trees are going to be perfect,” he announced instead of acknowledging the comment. “And this time, that nasty King and his nasty squirrels aren’t going to climb them, so they won’t be ruined, so they’ll grow to be big and beautiful! Nothing’s going to make them fall down!”

“Except a light breeze,” Bim mumbled, glancing around at the small, fragile sprouts Yandere had coerced him into planting. Already they were slumping sideways in the wind, as if clinging to nothing but the topsoil for survival, but that wasn’t Bim’s fault! He’d never claimed to be a gardener. “Why did you ask me to do this with you?”

“Don’t be silly! You’re my _tomodachi_ , Bim! There’s no one else I’d rather plant these trees with…except my sempai, of course,” Yandere sighed dreamily, shuffling toward the sprouts Bim had planted and rearranging the dirt. Once he thought it was satisfactory, he straightened, brushing his hands off against his skirt.

“Tsk, look at you; you’re a mess!” Bim scolded, whisking out his handkerchief and pulling on Yandere’s shoulder to turn him. As he wiped the dirt from Yandere’s cheeks, he continued, “This is why I didn’t want to come out here. This is one of my best suits, you know, and I didn’t exactly plan on all of this outdoor work. You could stand to get a new uniform, Yan; this one has _quite_ a few stains.”

Yandere’s giggle was muffled by the handkerchief, but his grin was obvious enough when his eyes scrunched up. “I happen to _like_ the stains. You could use a few more yourself!” With that, he batted Bim's hand away and reached out, throwing his arms around him and crushing him against his chest.

“Wai— _Yan!_ New suit!” he whined, straining to breathe. Yandere held him for several more seconds regardless and when he was finally allowed to regain his footing, Bim didn’t have to look at himself to know his front was going to be covered in dust.

“Thank you for spending time with me!” Yandere chirped, patting Bim on the shoulder with one soil-coated hand and waving his handkerchief sassily with the other before skipping off.

Bim watched until Yandere was out of sight before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Somehow it had to be worth it. He was _going_ to convince himself that, for the sake of their friendship, it was worth it.


	5. Breathless

“Chase, what are you doing? I thought you said Jackieboy sent you home to take a day _off_ , not to bring all of that home with you,” Stacy scolded, planting her hands on her hips as she loomed over her husband.

“Ehh, Pajama-boy’s just tryin’ to abuse his author’ty,” Chase mumbled, pinching the bridge of his congested nose and keeping his eyes on the screen of his laptop. It took him several seconds to recapture the sentence he was reading; as much as he tried to ignore it, the pounding ache behind his eyes was making it almost impossible to focus.

No sooner had he found his place did his nose start running again; groaning, he leaned to his left and groped awkwardly for the tissue box. Stacy took advantage of the distraction, promptly closing the distance and swatting the lid of his laptop down.

“Hey, that’s—” Chase tried to protest, his voice catching in favor of a tickle in his throat which almost immediately became a coughing fit. As she slid the laptop onto the coffee table, Stacy watched her husband struggle to catch his breath, her expression wavering somewhere between concern and exasperation.

“Over with—that’s what _that_ is,” she informed him firmly. “Besides, this spot’s taken.”

Chase blinked in sluggish bewilderment, opening his mouth to ask what she meant, but he didn’t have to; she was already smoothing out the wrinkles in his blankets and perching on his lap. He stilled, leaning his upper body further back against the couch cushions as she made herself comfortable, like a cat claiming the prized spot for sunbathing.

“Y’might not wanna get so close,” Chase breathed cautiously.

“Are you going to reject me?” she quipped lightly as she curled her knees up and lifted one of her arms over his head to loop it around the back of his neck. She let him adjust to it for a few moments before adding, “Really, how are you feeling? Be honest.”

“…Stuffy. M’ head hurts and m’ throat itches,” he admitted. Stacy nodded pensively, hazel eyes reading blue for several moments before she shifted slightly to press a cool kiss to the edge of his jaw. He leaned into the contact, his eyes closing without his permission as she pressed another just under his ear and then to his cheekbone and his temple. When her lips found his, he mumbled softly against them—probably something about being contagious—but she silenced that almost immediately with a reproachful nip. Translation: Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it’s pressed against yours.

 _In sickness and in health,_ he decided fleetingly before he lost himself in her.


	6. Kindness

“Out here again, I see.”

The Author perked up as the voice of his friend reached him from the door. Laying down his pen, he glanced over his shoulder as the King fully entered the small, one-room cabin. Somehow he still managed to move regally; though there were plenty of sharp objects leaning into the walkway that his cloak could catch on, he never faltered, poking curiously through the half-unpacked boxes, which were layered with dust.

“How long have these been here?” he questioned, glancing again at the cabin’s owner.

The Author made an ambivalent noise, waving an ink-stained hand. “Some of them have been here since I created the place. That was back when I was first created, heh.”

“Oh, Author, Author…” the King tutted, shaking his head and wiping his dusty fingers off on his pants. “You’re going to make a hermit of yourself.”

“I thought I already had.”

“Not while you’re my friend, you haven’t! I’m the only reason you leave this place long enough to admire the flowers and the wildlife in these woods. I think they could really inspire you if you watched them long enough. My subjects inspire me every single day—but I’m no writer. I don’t have the knack for it.”

“The knack?” the Author echoed, raising his eyebrows incredulously. “Is that all I have, a knack? This is what I was _born_ for, just as you were born to be the King of the Squirrels and run around the woods with peanut butter on your face.”

“And I’m proud of it,” the King reminded him with an imperious tone and a softness in his eyes that betrayed him. “Just as I’m proud of you. You may try to be a hermit, but you’re _my_ hermit. You’re also quite the scribe…Yes, you have a knack for it, and so much more.” Pulling a box of tools off an old stool, he repositioned the stool so it would have a view of the Author’s desk. Sweeping his cloak back, he perched on it. “Tell me what you’ve been writing! I’d love to—”

The Author opened his mouth to interject, but it was too late. A soft creak and a louder snap later, the King was sprawled head over heels on the floor, dazed with surprise.

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” the Author broke the silence, trying to hide his grin. “I think that’s been there since I created the place too.”

Sitting up, the King glowered at him even as he straightened his displaced crown and glasses. “You’re funny.”

“Here.” Taking up his pen, the Author bent over his notebook, writing in the margin. “All at once, the King finds his stool reassembling itself before his eyes, dust-free and sturdier than before. When he sits, it is perfectly safe and comfortable.”

The King didn’t rise right away, watching the stool rebuild itself, but when he retook his seat, he squirmed slightly. The Author expected him to smile, tell him that it was perfect, but he…didn’t look too comfortable.

“Something wrong?” the Author questioned warily, looking him up and down.

The King swallowed, folding his hands loosely in his lap. “You said ‘when.’”

“What?”

“You said, ‘ _when_ he sits…’ How did you know I would?”

“Because I wrote it.”

The King’s eyes drifted between him and his pen, lodged securely between his fingers. “You can…control me, just like your characters?” he asked uncertainly, to which the Author promptly set his pen down and spun around on his own stool to face him.

“I won’t,” he assured him, leaning forward and gripping his arm. “You’re not a character.”

“But you could _make_ me one, if you wanted to?”

“…Yes.” Noticing how the King’s eyes widened, the Author repeated quickly, “But I won’t. I don’t think of you and the other Egos as I do my characters. My characters are…different. I treat them differently.”

“Why?”

His grip on the King’s arm falling lax, the Author broke gazes with him, squinting in thought. “They are…my subjects. In a way, I’m _their_ king.”

As the King processed this, his expression changed enough to let the Author know he had understood, but there was still one more question in his eyes. “Are you a kind king?”

Stifling a sigh, the Author turned so he was again facing his desk, snatching up his pen. “If I want to be,” was his only response.


	7. Refuge

All Chase could hear were the frantic breaths catching in his throat. Sweat stung his eyes, clinging to his bangs and the hairs on the back of his neck. As soon as he heard the unearthly howl of rage echo behind him, he felt a chill wash down his spine. The thunder of his boots against the linoleum in the hall faltered as he tried to cut a corner and stumbled.

Narrowly catching himself on the wall before he fell, he didn’t dare to stop, rushing onward as soon as he regained his footing. He had to find refuge!

 _Safe haven, safe haven, safe haven_ , his mind chanted frantically as he jostled door handles with sweaty hands, his heart surging into his throat every time he found they were locked. He was wasting time! The door at the end of the hall was his last option but as soon as he laid eyes on it, he hesitated, casting a hurried glance over his shoulder. Did he risk facing what was within or what was behind him? What did he fear more?

Another scream reached his ears then and he lunged, slamming the door open and swinging himself inside in one sweeping motion. Within seconds the safe haven was sealed and locked and he finally found a moment to gasp air into his aching lungs.

“Chase, what are you doing in here?” a stern voice questioned from overhead. Blearily Chase blinked up at Jackieboy, swallowing hard and then wiping a forearm over his clammy face.

“You…you gotta hide me,” Chase panted, stumbling to his feet and clinging to the hero for balance. “If you don’t, I’m already dead!” A clang and a shout from outside made the vlogger go rigid and he spun around, backing away from the door. “Where can I hide, Jackie? Where can I hide?!”

“Uhhh—okay, get over there!” Jackieboy ordered, steering him toward a grouping of large boxes for computer parts. Nodding his thanks, Chase fairly flung himself at the largest of the crates, curling tightly into himself and taking one last gulp of fresh air before pulling the flaps closed. The door handle rattled and turned and Chase clenched his eyes shut in anticipation, straining his ears to listen.

“Oh…Marv, did you need something?”

“Where’s Chase?” the magician spat, his voice echoing in the aura of his magic. “He and I need to have a little chat!”

“I haven’t seen him. I’ve been in here all day!” Jackieboy reminded him. “I told you I’d be working on codes for a while.”

“I saw him come down this way,” Marvin insisted in a hiss. “This is the only place he could have gone; everything else is locked.”

Jackieboy considered, humming thoughtfully. “Did you think he might’ve locked one of them from the _inside?_ ”

Growling under his breath, Marvin spun on his heel, his shoes squeaking against the floor. “I’m going to check. If he comes in here while I’m gone…” He didn’t bother to finish whatever the threat may be, pulling the door closed with a sharp bang behind him.

Chase sat up as soon as he was able, shaking packing peanuts out of his hair and cautiously glancing up at a supremely-unimpressed Jackieboy.

“What did you do?” he deadpanned, folding his arms with authority that left no room for any evasion or lies.

Now that he had a moment to think, Chase found it in himself to laugh a little. “I put some bubble wrap around the rim of the toilet, underneath the seat…It so happened that Marv was the one who set all the poppin’ off and it startled him! So, uh, he kind of fell in.”

Jackieboy blinked a few times, his arms falling slack back to his sides. Ever so slowly, a grin crept across his features, though he did his best to hide it by covering his face with both hands. “What am I going to do with you?” he whispered, his words muffled by his fingers and rueful, near-silent giggling.

“Hopefully you’ll keep me safe from the wrath of Marvin the Magnificent?” Chase suggested hopefully.

“Of course. Jackieboy Man to the rescue, as always…so long as you promise never to do that to _me!_ Now get back in there; he’ll probably come back soon.”


	8. Shallow

“Fool…yesterday…lucky…happened upon you…What were you thinking?”

Wilford could only latch onto a few words at a time, focusing instead on keeping his breath steady, keeping his eyes open. He had to trust that Dark would do the rest for him; that was Dark’s job, after all. He called himself their leader, right? He said he was the one in control? Now was the chance to prove it, though Dark didn’t seem to be in control of his temper at the moment. His tone alone was enough to make anyone cower—anyone else, at least. Will wasn’t in any shape to cower properly.

“Knew it would happen eventually…jus’ like it happened t’old Markimoo…y’know?” Wilford slurred, a wry grin crossing his face as he blinked lazily up at the older Ego, who bared his teeth in response and took twin fistfuls of his shirt, dragging him none too gently from where he was slumped against the kitchen island to the nearby couch so he could be prostrate.

“That doesn’t explain how you could have ever come up with this method!” Dark’s voice faded in and out of hearing range as he strode back and forth between the couch and the kitchen cupboards, scouring for supplies. “And even if by some bizarre twist of natural rationality, the idea crossed your mind, why would you ever _go_ _through_ with it?!”

Wilford did his best to consider the question but no “rational” answer was forthcoming. Too many words, too much explaining, he didn’t want to bother.

“If it needs to come out, it comes out,” was all he could say in the end.

Even though he was still on the other side of the room, he could hear Dark’s aura chitter and hiss furiously at that. Wilford held his breath for a few moments, waiting expectantly, and without warning Dark was looming over him, casting a murky shadow. He knelt, his aura flicking the coffee table off its legs and out of his way as if it weighed nothing; his hands were occupied, shaking with rage as they tore apart a roll of bandages.

“ _Wilford_ ,” he hissed through teeth set edge to edge, pressing the gauze through the tear in his pale yellow shirt, “You do _not_ remove your appendix with a butterfly knife!”

Now that Dark was actively pressing down on the wound, Will’s breath was growing heavier and his whole frame shook. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel a prickle of irritation at the demon’s words, cutting through the pain. “Oh, I’m so sorry—is there a doctor ’round here I don’t know about?” he groaned, sending a brief, narrowed glare at Dark before clenching his eyes shut and tipping his head back, exhaling forcefully through his nose. “Didn’t th-think so.”

Dark, for his part, felt the red in his aura flare, burning his skin and leaving him flushed with barely suppressed rage. He channeled that rage into his focus, leaning his weight further onto his arms and drawing a whine out of the other Ego. Will shook more violently under his hands as the bandages soaked, sending another glance his way that was decidedly less angry than before—his eyes were wider, wetter. He bit his lip, blinking hard, and then opened his mouth to speak. Dark shook his head just once in reply to the unspoken question, forceful and to the point.

“No. I won’t let that happen. Now shut up and breathe.”


	9. Breathe

There was nothing that could chill Schneep to his core more than seeing Jackieboy break. Every time, he hoped and prayed that it was going to be the last time because no matter how often he saw it, it still terrified him. Being forced to witness their hero when he was at his lowest, much less try to put him back together again, was an awful experience that Schneep never wanted to repeat.

He couldn’t seem to get what he wanted.

Not too long ago, he had been addressing the endless stack of files that had piled up his desk; the clutter was practically up to his nose, but his last signature had gone wildly astray, ink smearing as he jumped to the sound of the door crashing open.

“Doc!” Marvin hollered frantically as he wrestled Jackieboy’s limp frame inside. “Doc, Jackieboy’s down! He needs you!”

He came out of his desk chair so fast that his vision blurred, but when he blinked he could see the bloody picture in full detail, biting back a gasp at the sheer amount pouring down Jackie’s chest through the long tear in his jumpsuit.

“Table, Marvin! Put him on his side!” he commanded as he lunged for his sterile gloves. He could barely find the right holes for his fingers in his panic; his preparations were on instinct, the rest of his attention magnetized to his friend. Even from here, he heard the wheeze in his breathing. A sucking chest wound—he needed a chest seal or plastic, occlusive dressing—

“Schneep!” Marvin barked as Jackieboy writhed and coughed, blood spewing from his mouth and down his chin.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Put on a glove and put pressure!” he snapped back, tossing the box of gloves at him before gripping Jackieboy’s shoulder. “Jackie? Up here, buddy, look at me!”

“Ca—Can’t breathe—” the hero choked out, another trail of fluid spilling down his face as wide, clouded eyes latched onto Henrik’s face. They tore away just as quickly when Marvin pressed down on his wound and he cried out, coughing as blood stuck in his throat.

“Yes, the good doctor will fix that! I’m going to save you,” he swore hurriedly, tearing through the dressings. Jackie only moaned in response, legs kicking out almost uncontrollably, and Schneep briefly seized him again to cry, “Jackie, stop thrashing! You’re going to make it even worse! Hold still and listen to me, yes?! In a moment I ask you to breathe out as much as you can! You do that for me when I ask you!”

The breath that Jackie let out when he asked was short, crackly and shallow. Schneep recognized that sound all too well and sharp, burning dread coursed through him as he dropped the bandaging and cupped Jackie’s jaw, tipping his head. Cursing as he took in the blue pallor to his lips and the swelling in his neck, he changed tactics sweeping the dressings off to the side where they would be out of his way. Jackie was already losing consciousness, he didn’t have time—!

“What are you doing?!” Marvin demanded urgently.

“Is too late for that; there’s buildup in his chest! Get a shock blanket!” As the magician bolted for the cabinet, Schneep tore his phone from his pocket and dialed the hospital. Marvin returned and swept the blanket over their friend just as the voice on the other end asked for the emergency. The magician took it in shaking hands, already bellowing for an ambulance.

The tension, the shock, the blood loss, and Jackie had said he couldn’t breathe—Schneep breathed for the both of them, prying Jackie’s bloodstained mouth open and pressing his own against it to force the air into him. He didn’t dare to consider what might happen if he stopped.


	10. Leverage

“You be—believe this will make me submit?” Google growled, his voice box crackling with static as coolant spilled from the new tears in his skin. “No. I will not b-break s-so easily for you. My s-systems have evolved b-beyond your knowledge— _hh!_  Agh!  _Ahhhh!_ ”

Edward’s heart lurched into his constricting throat at the gasps and cries echoing beyond the glass window in front of him, but he still didn’t move. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the torture had started, but every moment felt like a stab and a twist to his chest.

“ _Ahhhh!_  Aghh!  _Edward—!_ ”

“N—!” By instinct Edward surged forward half a step, hands rattling against their cruelly tight cuffs behind his back, but the man watching his reactions caught ahold of him and wrenched him back, gloved fingers digging into the crest of his shoulder.

“This doesn’t have to continue,” he pointed out, his smug, offhand voice grating on Edward’s frantically pounding ears. “You only need to say the word and we’ll shut it down. If you give us the code to access his core memory, we’ll spare him! We’ll let you both go as soon as the download’s complete.”

“No,” he hissed. There was a faint sigh.

“Then you get to watch him suffer because of you. Maybe you shouldn’t have shown him how to be so human, huh?”

Though Edward didn’t visibly react, everything in him twisted at that. It was…true…Google  _was_  reacting like a human would. He had never heard Google scream like this, he’d never—he’d never heard him so  _pained_. Yet every time the electricity wound down to a threatening hum and the android’s frame was allowed to slump back onto the rack behind him, he swore to his captors again.

“I w-will  _not_  break!”

In that promise was something else, a command. He wasn’t the one they were trying to break and he knew it full well. Every time he said those words, he stared with fiery, wild eyes at the glass separating them.

 _Don’t break. Don’t break. I won’t break for you. Don’t you_ dare _break for me_.

As sparks and smoke spewed from new fissures opening in Google’s joints, Edward swallowed with difficulty against his racing, aching heart, trying to resist the urge to close his eyes as he watched his friend thrash and convulse, back arching in agony, limbs straining farther and farther to no avail.

“ _Ahhhhhh!_ ” When the charge eased, Google went limp again, but it was different this time. Shoulders shaking as they slumped back into their proper place in their sockets, he lowered his head toward his heaving chest, weakly parting his lips to let a mouthful of blue blood spill.

“No—” Edward gasped again, stiffening fearfully, and the man behind him chuckled.

“Would you look at that? Maybe we won’t need the code; with much more of this, his body will break down and we’ll be able to extract his processor  _easily_.”

“Stop,” the doctor burst out, shaking his head violently and struggling to shrug free as those on the other side of the glass primed the machine again. “That’s enough, please—Stop!  _Stop!_  Turn it off!”

Judging by the way Google’s lidded eyes opened wide, flaring with shock—betrayal—wounded, helpless anger—the speaker system between the two rooms went both ways.


	11. Feeling

“Chase?” Marvin called out as he eased the front door closed behind him, keeping his voice low and cautious just in case. If the younger Ego didn’t answer, it would mean that he was  _finally_  asleep and the last thing Marvin wanted was to wake him when he’d been getting so little of it lately. Sighing softly as silence reigned, he untucked the takeout bag from its lodging under his arm and slid it onto the kitchen counter, glancing over his shoulder into the living room. He wasn’t napping on the couch; he must not have moved from his bedroom.

 _Even though he told me he was going to right before I left_.

He couldn’t hold him to that. There was too much happening; Chase’s depression was hitting him way too hard for him to expect Chase to live up to such a small promise. He probably hadn’t found the strength.

Before he could finish that thought, a muffled crash from somewhere nearby captured his attention. Whirling around, he called out again, more sharply, “Chase?” That hadn’t come from the direction of the bedrooms; it was on the other side of the hall, in the vicinity of his office.

Crossing the distance in a few long strides, he hurriedly gave his door a onceover and then wrenched it open, gasping as another shrill clatter met his ears and eyes.

“What are you doing?!” he cried, launching himself forward to tear broken chunks of pottery from Chase’s hands before he could rear back and hurl them. “Chase, these are  _mine!_ ”

“Why should I care?” Chase challenged, lifting his chin to stare Marvin dead in the eyes. “Huh? Why should I? They’re just stupid, ugly little figures; it’s not like they were worth much.”

Flabbergasted at his guiltless defiance, Marvin glanced around the room, incredulous anger welling in his chest as he saw the shattered glass and ceramic littering the carpet. Even the metal pieces hadn’t gone untouched; Chase had beaten them against the walls, denting and mangling them. “These are my  _artifacts!_ ” he snarled, shaking the two pieces he’d swiped from him. “I paid thousands of dollars, you idiot,  _thousands_ —Look what you’ve done!”

“Well, then you wasted your money! It’s not like anyone else would want anything so dumb; only  _you_  ever could,” the vlogger spat, shoving his hands away. “Just get ’em outta my face!”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?!” Marvin barked, slamming the pottery onto the nearby desk. “Don’t you realize—?!”

He stopped.

“Go on, Marv, go on! I wanna know! I wanna know just how much these clunky little things meant to you!”

“Chase—” The greater majority of the anger had diffused from Marvin’s voice as he lifted his wrist, examining the crimson smudges and then glancing back at the other’s scuffed, gashed up hands. “Chase, you’re bleeding.”

“Well, that’s not important,” Chase scoffed with a deeper glare. “The only thing that matters to you is your  _collection_ , isn’t it?”

“No…” Turning on him, Marvin reached out, beckoning. “Here, let me see.”

A flash of unfamiliar panic tore over Chase’s face then, followed by disbelief. “What? Why?!”

“Because you hurt yourself on the glass; I need to make sure it’s not serious!”

“What?! Marv, I smashed all your stuff! What’re you gonna do about that, huh?!” Shoving at him a second time, he snapped, “C’mon! C’mon, come at me, I’m ready!”

“Come  _at you?_ ” Marvin sputtered as he fought Chase’s hands, trying to deflect them so he could approach. “You’re not making any sense! Chase, why are you fighting me? I wanna make sure you’re okay!”

“Well, stop! Stop it!” Breath quickening, Chase persisted, anger and reckless determination mingling as Marvin stayed on the defensive. “Stop it! Marvin!” With a clenched breath that was more like a strangled whimper, he drew back a fist. “Fight back!”

His shot was weak. Marvin caught ahold of it easily and kept it, seizing the wrist it belonged to for good measure as he demanded again, “What are you doing, Chase? Why are you—?!”

“You’re supposed to be  _yelling!_ ” Chase shouted, heather blue eyes welling as he smacked at him with his other hand until Marvin snatched and immobilized that one too. “You’re supposed to be yelling at me! And…and  _hitting_  me! You’re supposed to get angry enough to hit me! Why aren’t you doing that?!”

“What?! Why would you want me to?!”

“Because I want to  _feel it!_ ” The last two words formed a piercing scream that burned Marvin’s ears as Chase crumpled forward into him, burying his face in his chest as heaving sobs wracked his body. “I j-just want to f-feel…anything, Marv…I just… _Anything_ …Please!”

For a long minute, Marvin could only stand motionless, speechless, as Chase wept bitterly against him. As he shook off his disbelief, however, he managed a breath, releasing Chase’s hands and wrapping tight around his shoulders instead.

“I won’t hurt you,” he stated softly, drawing a tearful hiccup from his brother as he rocked him faintly back and forth. “I won’t.”


	12. Courting

The King could hear them coming from a distance and for the first time since they’d ever so  _kindly_  introduced themselves to him, he allowed himself a smile. His bruised, battered face ached with the motion, but the grin didn’t waver, peanut butter sliding sluggishly down his face and mingling with the crusted blood.

“Hey there, homie!” the leader of the group drawled. He didn’t use “homie” as an affectionate term—he meant it in that the King had no home. If only they knew. “You ready for us to  _dethrone_  you again?!” This drew spiteful laughter from those around him and he grinned, though he wasn’t expecting the King to join in. He chuckled softly as he rose from his perch on a tree stump, his cloak falling in thick, glossy waves to the forest floor.

“Before we replay this same old game…” he began as he turned to face them, breathing deeply, “…I’d ask you to meet me in my court.”

“You don’t have a  _court_ ,” one of them sneered, waving the hand free of his bat. “All you got are these dyin’ trees, man.”

“These trees have been here longer than you’ve lived,” the King replied neutrally, shifting to press his hand against the nearest. Its bark was soft and cool under his palm and he patted it fondly before returning his attention to the unwelcome visitors. His eyes narrowed. “My court isn’t a building. My court is made up of my subjects. If you want to test me again, if you want to capture the crown, you face them first.”

“Subjects, huh? And who exactly would they be?” their leader scoffed.

“Yeah, homie, you and what army?”

“They as tough to crack as you are?”

The King’s smile only widened as he took a step back, lifting his hands in a gentle beckoning. As twitching tails, gleaming dark eyes and muffled chattering stirred from within the trees around them, he answered simply, “They do the cracking.”


	13. Refraction

Nearly four days. It had been nearly  _four days_  since Schneep saw the warmth of his bed and frankly when Marvin had found out, he was livid. 

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself!” he burst out, earning a clumsy brush of the doctor’s hand to wave away his words. He kept his gaze planted firmly on the specimen in his microscope and Marvin testily shifted his weight back and forth. “Schneep, I swear, if you don’t come out of that chair and start heading for the hallway in the next five seconds, I’m gonna  _pull_ you out.”

That finally brought Schneep’s head up. “Marvin,” he snapped, his voice hoarse with fatigue and frustration, “if you will just stop  _distracting_ me, I will be finished in another tick or two!”

Gritting his teeth, Marvin ducked his head and folded his arms tight against his chest. He waited. He waited as Schneep returned his attention to his work—waited as he stared down at it—waited through the grating clicks of the microscope lens readjusting—and then he acted, grabbing the armrest of Schneep’s chair and hauling him backward. Schneep squawked in dismay, taken by surprise as Marvin yanked the glass slide out of the microscope and held it up over his head.

“Give that back  _now_ , it is delicate! You’re being so  _childish!_ ” the doctor accused as he finally rose, glancing down to put a hand on his desk as he swayed dangerously for balance. When he looked back up, however, he froze, eyes pinned on the slide Marvin had stolen; he was shifting it in his fingers in front of his face, letting it reflect the light. It looked…different somehow, but he couldn’t see why. 

“Wh—What did you do to that?” he asked, his anger softening into confusion. 

“Hm. I don’t know,” Marvin remarked, tilting his head pensively. “Maybe you should take a closer look.” 

To his relief, Schneep did peer closer, and he subtly sent another spark of magic into the glass. It pulsed and refracted, swirling over itself in the slide’s depressions, and the younger Ego’s eyes widened. Marvin took a single step closer. 

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he murmured lowly as he tapped its edge, creating another spark that followed the last in its spiraling path. “You’ve been looking at this simple little glass for days but right now, it’s more interesting than it’s ever been. It feels as if it’s magnetizing your eyes to it. You don’t have to resist its pull…Just keep staring.” When he brought the glass lower, Schneep’s head gradually drooped to follow it. “Yes, that’s it…deeper now…and deeper…This is what you wanted so badly, isn’t it? It’s mesmerizing.”

“Mmm…mesmerizing…” Schneep repeated in a mumble, unaware of the fact that he’d even spoken.

“The longer you follow the light, Henrik, the more aware you become of how heavy your body is feeling. Your legs, your arms, your shoulders and neck…all of the tension is draining out of them. It feels very,  _very_ good. Relax the muscles in your jaw, your cheeks and forehead…Oh, but your eyes are still open, aren’t they? Relax your eyelids. As soon as you close your eyes, you’ll feel better than you ever—”

He didn’t even get a chance to finish his command before Schneep crumpled. Dropping the glass, Marvin lunged, catching him around the shoulders before he could hit the floor entirely and wrangling his limp frame sideways. Exhaling in exasperation, he scooped him into his arms and rose, only taking a moment to glance back down at the microscope slide on the floor.

 _Never done that before. Maybe I should look into using them more often_.


	14. Authority

“Jameson?”

Judging by the authoritative bark in his tone, Jackieboy had seen what Jameson was doing his best to conceal with the brim of his hat. He froze halfway down the hall to his room, halfway to escape, his mind flurrying. Had he been walking too quickly? Had he slammed the front door too hard? Whatever the cause, Jameson could hear the hero slapping his comic shut and getting up from his seat on the couch.

 **“Golly, m-my apologies, Jackieboy, but I don’t have time to chat. I—I’m quite a hot bother in this outfit! I need to pop off into something more comfortable,”**  JJ stammered as he approached, shifting to scurry forward again. Jackieboy managed to grab his shoulder before he could, spinning him and whisking his hat off in the same fluid motion.

“Jameson…” he repeated, eyes widening as he tossed the younger Ego’s hat aside and cupped his cheeks, earning a wince as his bruised skin was tilted up for inspection. “What in the…? What is this?”

 **“Nothing,”**  Jameson blurted out too quickly, letting the jump of his speech slide between their faces serve as a distraction as he ducked away and pressed a hand over his cheek, trying to force a smile despite how it ached.  **“Nothing to concern yourself with, my good fellow! I made a fool’s mistake when I was out and about; I’m, ah, I’m still accustoming myself to those revolving doors in the shops and I tried to walk in at the wrong tick of the spin. Tripped over my silly little aglets! It clouted me good and hard and now I’m—I’m left like this. What a gaffe!”**

It was a story he’d rehearsed over and over on his walk home, slightly revised, and thanks to how often he misunderstood modern technology, it was actually viable. But to his despair, Jackieboy didn’t seem to accept it. He was tense, as if he were going to lift his hands to touch him again, but he restrained them by clenching them at his sides and squaring his shoulders as he took a steadying breath.

“Did someone do this to you?” he questioned directly, his voice unusually calm— _unnervingly_  so. Jameson swallowed, forcibly widening his smile despite the nervousness stirring in his chest.

**“Well, th-there was no one else lodged in the revolving door, so I’d say I did it to myself with my clumsiness—!”**

“Jameson Jackson.”

 _Oh, dear_.

None of them ever used his full name unless they meant it. It was a promise to follow right on his heels like a bloodhound until they received an honest answer.

 **“Did someone do this to me…?”**  he echoed back, swallowing a second time and noticeably fidgeting.  **“W-What if I were to say that immediately _before_  I found myself colliding with the door, there was…well, someone’s hand snagged about my collar to… _guide_  me into it? By force.”**

At that Jackieboy’s eyes darkened and his hand returned to Jameson’s shoulder. It struck him abruptly just how much bigger and stronger the hero was as he steered him toward the couch.

“I’m getting an ice pack for you, JJ, and then you’re tellin’ me what happened. Nothing left out.”


	15. Outnumbered

“Henrik, no!”

With two panicked words cried out from his pinned position against the scalding asphalt, the captured hero stole Schneep’s element of surprise. Jackie only realized his mistake when four of the gang members keeping him down whirled toward the newcomer, automatics already primed. Yelping, the doctor dropped the crowbar he had raised as a weapon and flung himself sideways, skidding and ripping seams in his coat as rounds mowed through the boxes he used as cover. 

Clanging and hissing staggered the sound of exploding wood and when Jackie reeled his head up to see what had happened, there was acrid smoke fogging the air and causing disoriented shouts –  _Distraction_. He didn’t waste it.

Nostrils burning, Schneep fumbled with the hem of his coat and buried his face in it as he scooted haphazardly away from the source of the chemicals. It wasn’t long before his smeared vision was filled with a mass of red and he was being heaved off the ground and into the air. 

“Henrik! Hen, answer me, are you okay?!”

“’m okay,” he coughed out, wiping his grimy, torn sleeve over his stinging eyes before peering up into his friend’s anxious face. “I’m fine… _khh_ …I’m okay. A-Are you? Let me look at – ”

“What were you thinking?!” Jackie cut him off, giving him a vigorous shake of dismay. “Nothing but a  _crowbar_ against automatics – and you were outnumbered seven to one! They’d gotten  _me_ down!” 

“Exactly why I had to,” he shot back as they touched down on the nearest rooftop, maneuvering out of the other’s arms as soon as he thought he had enough strength in his legs. Jackie still didn’t quite release him.

“This is my job, Henrik; I have powers, training that you don’t! You could’ve – !” Seeing no change in the younger Ego’s defiant stare, the hero swallowed hard, shifting the hand he had on his shoulder to the side of his neck. “If anything happened to you…”  _It would have been my fault_.

Audibly suppressing a sigh, Schneep covered Jackie’s hand with his own, offering a gentle squeeze before pulling it away. “Nothing did,” he reminded him emphatically. “But they hurt  _you_ , Jackie. Let me take a look.”


	16. Translations

“You wanna stop for the night? You look burnt out,” Jackie remarked as Schneep idly slid the English cards back and forth across the table. He looked up with furrowed brows at his last words, however, and Jackie amended, “You look tired, overworked.” At the younger Ego’s nod, he swept the cards off to the side and scooted his chair out. Schneep followed suit, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Thank you for the – ” He waved a hand indecisively. “Teachering. And being patient with me.”

“Of course! Get some good sleep if you can, okay? Uhh…” Thinking back, he smiled a little, cleared his throat and ventured, “ _Gute nackt! Süße Taube._ ” It was a simple piece of German, something that would make Schneep happy – 

Instead the doctor froze in his tracks, blinking rapidly in disbelief as his face turned bright pink. “Wh – What? I’m sorry,  _what_  do you say?”

“ _Gute nackt_ …?” Jackie repeated curiously. “That means good night, doesn’t it? And  _süße Taube_  means sweet dreams.”

For a split second, Schneep simply stared at him, a grin slowly taking over his face. After another moment or two he trembled, pressing his face into his hands as he started helplessly giggling. It was a light, bubbly sound that Jackie had never heard before; he would’ve liked it better if it hadn’t been at his expense!

“What?! What did I say?!” he sputtered self-consciously.

“You – You said – ‘Good naked, sweet deaf.’” Still laughing, Schneep shook his head and gathered up the stack of cards, leaving Jackieboy to stand there in shock as he headed down the hall to the lab.


	17. Hunted

“Through here!” Edward’s hands stung as they slammed against the metal bar to shove the next door open. He flew through as soon as there was a gap and Google stumbled to follow, grabbing at the doorframe and leaving a smeared blue handprint. Frantically Edward glanced up and down the stairway. “Up or down?”

“Down,” Google coughed wetly, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “The  **011001110110000101110010011000010110011101100101**  is below; it will lead to the street.”

“The what?” Google didn’t answer, hobbling quickly to the lower staircase. It was then that shouts echoed from somewhere over their heads and Edward sprang for the stairs, descending to the next landing in a matter of seconds. “Come on, hurry!”

“I – ” Something in Google’s leg burst and sprayed sparks as he tried for the next step and he crumpled, flung forward to hit the stairs below with a weighty crash. He skidded and somersaulted the rest of the way, landing on his side with a crackly cry. Blue blood sprayed from a new fissure in his chest and he gagged, groping for pressure.

“Neel!” Even as Edward scrambled to crouch, reaching out, Google threw his free hand up to block him, shove him away. 

“Don’t. Don’t stop-p-p-p,” he glitched out, optics sputtering. “Edward-d-d – the g-garage – you’ll – the st-street – yourself!” 

“No, I won’t just leave you here! I won’t let them – ”

Heavy boots skidded at the top of the stairs they’d just scaled and Edward had only a moment to see the rifles aimed down at his head.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're enjoying! Feel free to leave a kudos or a comment to tell me what you thought; I'd love to hear from you! <3


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